


Operation Birthday Cheer

by StBridget



Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Birthday, Clubbing, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StBridget/pseuds/StBridget
Summary: As usual, T. C.'s father forgets to call on T. C.'s birthday.  Not wanting to see his friend in pain, Rick drags him to the King Kamehameha Club.





	Operation Birthday Cheer

**Author's Note:**

> Magnum P. I. is property of CBS and its creators.
> 
> Inspired by episode 1.19 Blood in the Water and an OTP prompt asking who always wants to go clubbing, and who wants to stay home.

T. C. had to hand it to his friends—Rick and Thomas had tried everything to make his birthday special. They’d taken him to lunch, and not at Kamekona’s either—they’d taken him to a real, sit-down restaurant. T. C. didn’t have the heart to tell them he would have preferred Kamekona’s or his favorite diner, or one of the other good, local places they frequented. He would have been just as happy with a good ole Hawaiian plate lunch instead of a full meal, though the ahi was excellent. Rick and Thomas went out of their way to make T. C. feel special, and T. C. couldn’t let them think he wasn’t appreciative. He was; it was just a little out of his comfort zone.

 

They’d even presented him with a cupcake for dessert—chocolate with chocolate frosting, his favorite. It had a single candle on it because, as Rick said, “if we put one candle for every year, we’d probably light the cupcake on fire there’d be so many, old man.” T. C. had protested the old man comment (it wasn’t like he was that much older than Thomas and Rick), laughed, made a wish, and blown out the candle.

 

T. C. knew the chances of his wish coming true were slim to none. He had two, and he debated which one to make before he decided on the one that actually had a snowball’s chance in hell of coming true: wishing his father would call.

 

He didn’t of course, not that T. C. was really expecting him to. He always promised, and he never did, just like when he promised to come visit—something always came up. T. C. expected a text in the morning followed by a card a few days later. Even getting that much was iffy.

 

That left T. C. face to face with the subject of his second wish: Rick. The man in question was currently draped over the back of T. C.’s couch, leaning into T. C. as he begged the pilot to come out to the King Kamehameha Club. T. C. could feel the warm puff of Rick’s breath on his neck. The thick, musky, heady scent of Rick’s cologne filled T. C.’s nostril every time he breathed. It was all T. C. could do not to turn his head and capture Rick’s lips with his own. Those lips looked so inviting, plump and pink and oh, so kissable. Too bad Rick had absolutely no interest in T. C. whatsoever.

 

“C’mon, just come out for an hour or so,” Rick wheedled. “It’s better than sitting here feeling sorry for yourself.”

 

“Maybe I want to feel sorry for myself,” T. C. groused.

 

Rick clapped his hand on T. C.’s shoulder. “No, man, don’t do that. I don’t want to have to go down some deep dark hole and drag you out of your own head. I love you too much to let you do that to yourself.”

 

Yeah, Rick loved him, as a friend. Just like they both loved Thomas. T. C. was just grateful Thomas had a date tonight, or they’d both be nagging him to get out. “I’ll be fine,” T. C. assured Rick.

 

“No, you won’t,” Rick insisted. “You forget I know you. You’ll just sit here in the dark moping, and you won’t sleep, and you’ll feel even worse in the morning.”

 

Rick was right, but T. C. didn’t want to admit it. It didn’t help that he really did hate going to the club. It was dark, and noisy, and crowded, and T. C. was always on edge the whole time he was there, just a hairsbreadth away from a panic attack. “Can’t we just stay in and watch a movie or something?” T. C. said.

 

“No can do, man,” Rick said. “I’ve got a new band playing tonight, and I have to be there. You’ll love them. Just come. I promise, you won’t regret it.”

 

T. C. already did. However, his resolve was weakening; he never could resist Rick. Still, T. C. wasn’t ready to give up yet. “You know I don’t like that shit you play there.”

 

“This is different,” Rick said. “These guys mix native music with rock. It’s awesome. They’re the hottest new band on the island.”

 

That didn’t sound so bad. T. C. still wasn’t thrilled, but he gave in. “Okay, fine, but just for an hour.”

 

Rick beamed. “Great. You’ll have a great time, I just know it.”

 

T. C. knew he wouldn’t. He’d be stuck for an hour all alone at the bar while Rick schmoozed. Rick in action, flirting with men and women alike, was a sight to behold; he had a habit of making people feel like they were the center of the universe when Rick focused his million watt smile on them. T. C. loved it when he was the focus and hated it when it was anyone else. Watching Rick work the room was going to be torture.

 

Rick was on the move, headed toward T. C.’s bedroom. “Now, let’s find you something to wear.”

 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” T. C. asked.

 

Rick looked askance at T. C.’s worn jeans and oil-stained t-shirt. “We’ve been over this before, bro.”

 

T. C. reluctantly got up and followed Rick into the bedroom. “Yeah, we have, and I already told you I don’t own any silk shirts.”

 

“Yeah, but you do own that linen shirt I got you for your birthday last year,” Rick said. His voice was muffled because he was buried in T. C.’s closet, looking for the shirt. Rick found it and held it up triumphantly. “Aha! Here we go.” He tossed it at T. C. “Put that on.” Shirt taken care of, Rick went back to digging.

 

T. C. caught the shirt, feeling the crisp, woven cloth in his hands. He did love this shirt, though he hardly ever wore it for fear of getting it dirty—let’s face it, being a chopper pilot could be hard on the wardrobe. T. C. pulled his t-shirt over his head and shrugged on the new shirt.

 

“Here.” Rick threw a pair of jeans at T. C.

 

T. C. looked at them. “Hell, no, Rick, these barely fit.”

 

“I know,” Rick said. “They hug your ass like they’re painted on.” T. C.’s heart leaped at the thought that Rick actually noticed, but his hopes were dashed with Rick’s next words. “The ladies won’t be able to keep their hands off you.”

 

“You know that’s not my scene,” T. C. said. The only one he wanted to notice him was Rick, and that wasn’t going to happen.

 

“That’s no reason not to look good,” Rick said. He watched as T. C. struggled into the jeans. Once T. C. had finally gotten them zipped—not an easy task—Rick went to stand in front of the other man and eyed him critically. “You clean up pretty good,” Rick said. “Just needs a little adjustment.” He reached out and unfastened the cuff of one of the sleeves, rolling it halfway up T. C.’s arm, exposing his muscular forearm. “There. That’s better.”

 

T. C. had to repress a shudder at Rick’s touch. It was very intimate, being dressed by the man he was in love with. The only thing better would be being undressed by him. _Not going to happen_ , T. C. reminded himself.

 

T. C. looked in the mirror. He had to admit he did look pretty good—the white shirt stood out against his dark skin and the black jeans, hugging his chest and arms. The jeans were tight, but they did make his legs look good and, if Rick was to be believed, his ass. Rick was right; if T. C. had to do this, he might as well look good.  He was no match for Rick’s vibrant, royal blue, silk shirt unfastened  enough  to show a tantalizing expanse of toned chest dusted with hair  and crisp khakis tapering down to deceptively casual but very expensive sandals, but T. C. didn’t look too shabby.

 

R ick slung his arm around T. C.’s shoulder, heavy and warm and familiar—and very  much  friendly, T. C. had to remind himself before he got caught up in believing it was something more. He brought his focus back to the present just in time to hear Rick say “Let’s go find you some birthday cheer.”

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

An hour later, T. C. was sitting at the bar nursing a beer and feeling anything but cheerful. Rick seemed even flirtier than usual, brushing up against  all the  women and men  he talked to , smiling  that winning smile that T. C. wanted so badly to be directed at him, and  making everyone he encountered feel like they were someone special . T. C. watched Rick hand a drink to a blond so skinny T. C. didn’t know how she didn’t float away in the evening breeze. Rick crowded into her space, raising a drink to her lips, tipping it forward so the alcohol flowed into her mouth just as she took the glass. T. C. felt a stab of envy; he wanted that to be him, even though he knew his wish was futile.

 

Rick turned away from the woman and caught T. C. looking at him.  A  bright smile on  lit face. It was warm and open and friendly, but it wasn’t the one that made T. C. feel like he was the center of the world.  Those smiles were few and far between for T. C. . Sure, Rick had small, soft, fond smiles reserved for Thomas and T. C., but they were brotherly, not so intense you felt like you were burning up with desire. Not that T. C. needed a smile for that.

 

Rick laid his hand on T. C.’s shoulder, his touch burning like a brand. T. C. shifted away slightly before he could get too caught up in the feeling. He’d done enough indulging his fantasies tonight. Rick’s face fell for just a second, then his smile was back in place. “Having fun?” he asked.

 

“Not really,” T. C. said, honestly. “Can I go home now?”

 

“Not until you’re having fun,” Rick said.

 

“Not going to happen,” T. C. said.

 

“Don’t say that, Theodore,” Rick said. 

 

T. C. felt a flash of pleasure at hearing the name from Rick’s lips. Normally, T. C. hated his name, almost as much as Rick hated his, but from Rick it was a sign of affection, a name used just between the two of them, and Thomas, of course. Still, T. C. felt obliged to offer a token protest. “Don’t call me that, Orville.”

 

Rick looked mock offended at the name before he went back to the matter at hand. “At least dance, just once,” he said. “Then, I promise, you can go home and be miserable.”

 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have anyone to dance with,” T. C. said.

 

‘Don’t give me that,” Rick said. “I’ve seen at least six women come up and ask you to dance, and there’s at least six more looking at you. Any one of them would be thrilled to dance with you.”

 

T. C. sighed. He didn’t know what to say without admitting the only person he wanted to dance with was standing in front of him. “I just wasn’t feeling it,” he said instead.

 

Rick held out his arms. “So, dance with me.”

 

That would be far too dangerous. “Nah, I’ll pass.”

 

“What’s the matter?” Rick goaded. “Afraid to be seen with me?”

 

T. C. tried to think what to say next. “Nah, just don’t want to step on you r toes with my two left feet.”

 

Rick’s arms didn’t waver. “I’ll lead. It’ll be fine.”

 

T. C.’s heart fluttered. This was both his dream come true and his worst nightmare. He would love to dance with Rick, but there was no way this wouldn’t end in disaster. 

 

“Please?” Rick pleaded, turning on the puppy dog eyes.

 

T. C. couldn’t resist Rick when he did that. The sniper had the most adorable—and effective—puppy eyes imaginable—better than some actual puppies T. C. had met. “ Fine. But just one dance, then I’m outta here.”

 

Rick beamed and led T. C. to the floor. Rick guided T. C.’s arms into ballroom position, then took T. C.’s hand in his own and placed his hand on T. C.’s back. Rick kept a respectable distance between them. It was at once far too close and not close enough.

 

Rick led them through the standard ballroom steps. T. C. felt ridiculous. They were the only ones dancing like this; everyone else was swaying to the seductive Hawaiian rhythms, grinding up against each other.

 

“This is stupid,” T. C. said. “We’re the only ones dancing like this.”

 

“We can dance like everyone else,” Rick said. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He dropped T. C.’s hand and lifted his own from T. C.’s back, instead draping his arms around T. C.’s neck and pressing close. “Is this better?”

 

God, it felt good to have Rick pressed up against him like this. Their bodies felt so right pressed together. Rick started swaying to the music, and T. C. found his own body subconsciously matching Rick’s movements. T. C. felt himself harden, and his face flushed in shame. There was no way Rick wouldn’t notice.

 

If Rick did, he didn’t seem to mind. He just pressed in closer, grinding slightly, causing T. C. to harden further. For a moment, T. C. let himself believe Rick meant it. Then reality came crashing down around the pilot, and he shoved Rick away. “I can’t do this,” he said and fled.

 

Rick followed him, catching up to T. C. just as he had almost reached the door and safety. Rick placed his hand on T. C.’s arm, pulling the other man around to face him. “What the hell was that all about?”  he demanded. He looked angry and confused.

 

“Us. That. Dancing. Like that,” T. C. answered, flustered and unable to get the words out. He prayed Rick would let it drop, but there was no such luck.

 

“What was wrong with it?” Rick said. “You said it yourself, everyone was doing it.”

 

“They’re not us,” T. C. said, trying to explain.

 

He knew he’d failed when Rick’s face got hard, and the sniper crossed his arms angrily. “Wh y ? Because I’m a man? I’m disappointed in you, T. C. I expected better from you. It’s never bothered you before, but suddenly we’re close, and you can’t stand me around you.”

 

T. C. knew Rick swung both ways, had known ever since they came to Hawaii, and Rick had stated he wasn’t going to hide any more. T. C. also knew Rick didn’t feel that way about him, which made the whole unrequited crush thing even worse. “No, it’s not that,” T. C. said.

 

“Then what is it?”

 

Something in T. C. snapped, and he couldn’t hold his feelings in anymore. “It’s because it’s not real,” he said. “You, holding me like that, pressing up against me, making feel like I’m the only person in the world. It’s not real. I may feel that way about you, but you sure as hell don’t feel that way about me.”

 

Rick’s face softened, and he laid a hand on T. C.’s arm. T. C. tried to pull away, but Rick wouldn’t let him. “Of course I do,” Rick said. “I thought you knew that.”

 

T. C. felt like he’d been hit by a truck. “What?!? No, I didn’t know that.”

 

“Why do you think I worry about you so much? Why do you think I’m always there for you when your father lets you down? Why do you think I wanted you to come out with me tonight?”

 

“Because we’re brothers,” T. C. said. “You’re the same way with Thomas.”

 

“No, I’m not,” Rick said. “I love Thomas, but not the way I love you.”

 

Hope blossomed in T. C.’s chest. “Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

T. C. stared at Rick, completely at a loss what to do now that he knew his feelings were returned. It was overwhelming—after not being able to do anything, T. C. could now do everything, and he didn’t know where to start.

 

R ick didn’t seem to have the same problem. He leaned into T. C., stopping with their lips millimeters apart. “May I?” he breathed against T. C.’s lips. 

 

T. C. nodded. Rick closed the minuscule gap and pressed their lips lightly together.  It was so much better than T. C. had imagined. Rick’s lips were just as kissable as T. C. thought. They were soft, warm, and yielding a s they moved against T. C.’s. T. C. let out a moan.

 

Rick pulled back with a smirk T. C. knew all too well. “Liked that, did you?” Rick said.

 

T. C. grabbed Rick and pulled him close for another kiss, hotter and a lot less innocent.  T. C. didn’t give a damn they were in the middle of a crowded club . “Hell, yeah,” T. C. said when he released Rick’s lips.

 

Rick’s smirk softened into a tender smile. T. C. decided he liked that even more than the flirtatious grin, especially since it was just for him. “Tell you what,” Rick said, “let’s finish that dance, then you can hide in my office until I’m done.”

 

T. C. groaned in frustration. That was far too long to wait to get Rick alone. “Can’t we go now?”

 

Rick looked genuinely sorry. “No can do. I’ve gotta make sure the band gets paid and the receipts get totaled and the deposit  is  ready. It’ll be a few more hours, at least.”

 

“Damn, Rick,” T. C. said. He tried not to whine, but he was pretty sure he failed.

 

Rick brushed another kiss against T. C.’s lips. “Don’t worry,” Rick said with a wicked grin. “I get breaks.”

 

T. C. perked up at the thought. This birthday hadn’t turned out so bad after all. Sure, his dad never called, but he got the man he loved. Looked like T. C. made the wrong wish.

**Author's Note:**

> This was really hard to write. I don't think we get a good sense of T. C.'s personality on the show. I think we get some good moments, like the episode with the kid who's father is arrested, and Blood in the Water, but he's not as out there as Rick and Magnum, so he's harder to get a handle on. The OTP prompts helped. Hope I did them justice. As usual, let me know if writing this pair is worth continuing.
> 
> Difficulty aside, I'm really happy with the way this turned out. Like Lost on This Dance Floor, I feel I did a good job with the sensory input. That's always been hard for me as a writer. I hope I can keep it up.
> 
> This is also really long for me. I can't believe this fluffy little story topped 3k words!


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